


It Starts With a Picture

by regularlordreckoner



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regularlordreckoner/pseuds/regularlordreckoner
Summary: Eames comes across a photo of Arthur he took on the beach and one things leads to another. Before he knows it, he's calling Arthur up for a little late night chat...





	

**Author's Note:**

> While I was working on fixing up an older story I came across this little oneshot I wrote a while back, but never published and figured, "What the heck?" Just some good, clean fun between a forger and a point man. Enjoy!

It starts with a picture. More accurately, it starts with a trip to the beach. The trip had been Ariadne’s idea, a way for everyone to take a break to cool down and relax after the Fischer job. 

The picture itself contains one very unhappy-looking Arthur. He's standing in front of the most gorgeous beach known to man and yet there’s a deep scowl on his face and a red tinge to his skin from where he began to burn despite the copious amounts of suntan lotion he applied. He’s wearing a simple pair of black swimming trunks and matching flip flops with a towel slung over one arm, a book tucked under said arm, and a bottle of water and pair of sunglasses in hand. His other hand is leveled at his hip as though he were about to draw his weapon if only his beach wear had accommodated a holster. 

Eames takes satisfaction in knowing that he’s responsible for the hateful look Arthur's giving the camera. He had tried to sneak away from the group as Ariadne and Yusuf were facing off against Cobb and his little ones in a sand castle building competition. He grumbled something about not wanting to burn anymore and had snatched up his belongings, skulking away in hopes of finding some quiet and shade where he could enjoy his novel, but just as he was about to make his escape Eames had called out his name and snapped a picture before the point man could register what had happened. 

Arthur had gaped at him for a moment and then shot him the bird. He stalked away, muttering to himself about immature troglodytes and Eames had merely chuckled at his retreating back. 

He had only just come across the photo again an hour ago. He was in the process of saving some photos to his computer for safekeeping. The gem in question had fallen out of a shoe box, embedded in between a photo of the forger himself taken in true camera whore fashion and a picture of Cobb, Phillipa, and James celebrating in victory over having the better sandcastle. The image consists of Cobb crouched between his children with his arms flung around them and bearing a radiant smile while Yusuf can be seen off the side giving Ariadne a smile that's both knowing and admiring for letting the children win. 

Eames finds that he has several other photos of Arthur saved from the same day: various pictures of him staring out the van window as they drove to the beach, a few of Arthur buried in his book, and a few others where he’d caught the point man by surprise. But this photo, the one where Arthur looks like he wants to pounce at the camera, at Eames, has the forger rustling about his home office looking for the glossy printer paper. 

Within ten minutes he’s got a larger version of the picture printed out and staring up at him. At first he lets is just sit on the corner of his desk on top of the rubble of bills and abandoned notes for various jobs. He continues uploading photos from his camera onto his computer, but every few minutes his eyes flicker back to Arthur glaring up at him. 

Eames finally breaks down and stops what he’s doing with the computer. He leans back in his chair and picks up the photo, feeling Arthur's look burn into him all over again. He gazes around the room trying to find a suitable distraction, anything that would require him to stop what he's doing and being a new task straight away, but it's no use. The urge to look at the photo again compels him and it's with a resigned sigh that he holds the picture up to examine it once more. 

Eames doesn’t typically like the skinny, boyish look, but somehow on Arthur it’s almost graceful. The way he holds himself is strong and confident and that really makes all the difference. His body is hard and sharp in all the right places and despite his tough exterior Eames can’t help but notice how soft Arthur’s skin looks. He touches a finger to the photo, trailing it along Arthur’s body as though hoping to feel the smooth texture of the point man’s skin beneath. His fingers trail their way up to Arthur’s face and it’s here that Eames’ breath hitches. Beneath the harshness of the look there’s also something predatory and incredibly sexual in Arthur's eyes. To Eames, it looks as though the effect of such a look could have resulted in one of two ways: either with the photographer getting punched or being slammed into a wall and kissed properly. 

A shaky sigh leaves the forgers lips as his eyes slide shut and his mind begins to wander. It’s not long before the hand not holding the photo is trailing its way down Eames’ chest, down to his crotch where he begins to palm himself through his jeans. 

He squeezes his eyes shut even tighter and imagines that it’s Arthur’s hand touching him, that the point man is pressed against his back, breathing into his ear and rubbing him through his pants. He can feel himself getting hard as he rubs himself harder and small moans begin to escape his lips. 

His eyes snap open suddenly as a brilliant idea washes over him. He puts the photo down on top of the desk and begins digging through his pockets for his mobile. It takes him longer than what it normally would because his hands are shaking slightly, but he eventually extracts it with a triumphant grunt. He presses a few buttons and then puts the phone to his ear and sighs as his eyes slip closed again and his hand returns to its excursions.

“Eames, goddammit, this is the third time I’ve tried calling you. You do realize that you’re leading this workshop tomorrow, right? And it is of the utmost importance that you be there. This isn’t some bullshit case like what I’m sure you’re accustomed to in Mombasa. This is serious business and Cobb’s ass is on the line. Jesus, you could have at least emailed me the presentation notes like I asked you to do three days ago, but you couldn’t be bothered with that, could you?” There’s the sound of Arthur shifting the phone, perhaps from one ear to the other, and Eames can hear the point man curse some more. “Just…just if you get this please call me back. Consider it urgent. I need you…I mean...I need to hear from you. Jesus, I’m tired. And you’re…you’ve pissed me off, okay? Shit…” There’s a click and the voicemail ends. 

Eames fumbles for the repeat button as he unzips his jeans and slides his hand into them, working himself through his briefs. He listens to the message again, his breathing becoming more erratic as he slides lower in his seat. There’s a small wet spot forming on his underwear where his cock has begun to leak precum. 

He wants to get it over with and just finish himself off, but he’s feeling especially bold tonight. He wants more, so much so that he feel exceedingly greedy with how much he wants. 

Before he even realizes his actions, he’s dialing Arthur’s number. He doesn’t bother to check the time, he knows the younger man will answer. 

Sure enough, the phone rings twice before Eames hears a very sleepy sounding Arthur on the other end. 

“Eames? Jesus, what time is it? What do you want?” Eames can hear a rustling on the other end, presumably Arthur locating his watch from the nightstand. 

He draws a blank as to what to answer with. He hadn’t planned any of this out, naturally. His mind, thick with the fog of lust, begins to click. He decides that honesty is the best policy and that he should just be upfront with Arthur, just how the point man likes it.

“What are you wearing, darling?” Eames breathes into the phone.

“What? Are you out of your... Jesus, Eames, are you drunk?” Arthur demands. Eames can picture him sitting upright in bed, a disapproving look on his youthful face. 

“Not at all, love. But I am intoxicated. You see, I was going through these photos and I happened to stumble across one that’s just put me in a right state.” His voice is low and gravelly, but he’s sure Arthur catches every word. 

“I…I don’t understand what this has to do with me,” Arthur stammers, but Eames is sure Arthur knows what this is about. 

“Oh darling…” Eames moans. The wet spot on his underwear has gotten a little bigger since their conversation began and Eames doesn’t know how much longer he can resist just plunging in and jacking himself off proper. He makes some guttural noises into the phone and waits to hear Arthur’s response. 

“Eames, I…I don’t know what you expect out of this conversation exactly, but I’m afraid whatever it is that you want…you’re going to be disappointed,” Arthur says, his voice small and not, Eames thinks, from late night fatigue. Eames wonders if he's blushing yet.

“Oh, pet, I’m sure you’ll be just fine. Never done this before, have you, love? That’s fine, I’ll start…”

“Eames! That is not what I meant. I meant that you won’t be getting anything out of me. I’m…I’m hanging up now.” 

He’s definitely blushing, Eames thinks as he's greeted by the sound of a dial tone. He holds his phone for a few seconds, hand still working himself through the material of his underwear, rubbing circles and tracing the line of his cock. He presses redial and puts the phone back up to his ear.

“Only one ring, I am impressed, Arthur,” Eames chuckles into the phone.

“Piss off,” Arthur spits, but Eames can detect something else in Arthur’s voice. He sounds distinctly bothered. 

“Mmmm, but you picked up, love. Don’t be coy with me. You know you want this just as much as I do. Admit it, Arthur,” Eames breathes Arthur’s name like it's a confession. He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other man and smiles. 

“I…I…”

“Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to say anything, darling. Just lie back, alright. Scoot that tight little arse of yours up until your back is touching the headboard.” Eames can hear the sound of Arthur shifting across the sheets and his breathing starting to hitch ever so slightly. 

“Mmmnn, that’s good, darling. God, I love it when you take direction from me,” Eames moans.

“Don’t get used to it,” Arthur hisses. 

“We’ll see about that,” Eames manages with a dark chuckle which dies in his throat as he squeezes himself a little too tightly. “Alright, now I at least need you to tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Eames!” Arthur whines.

“Don’t worry, love, there’s no need to try and make it sound sexy. You have no idea what you do to me without even trying.” Eames can actually hear Arthur gulp from the other end. 

“A-alright. I’m wearing some sweatpants…”

“What color are they?” Eames huffs, trying to imagine it in his mind.

“Grey. Just grey.”

“Mmm, that’s good, darling. Now what about a shirt?”

“I—I’m wearing that shirt you got for me. You remember, the one from the airport in Chicago? It’s navy and it says…”

“‘I heart Chicago’. Yes, love, I remember that one. You were having such an awful time that day and then that asshole smacked right into you and you spilled coffee all over that lovely sweater vest you had on. I bought you a replacement shirt since our luggage was checked and there was nothing for you to change into. I still remember how you smiled at me.” Eames grins into the phone and if he's not mistaken, it sounds like Arthur's smiling now as well.

“Yes, that one. That’s…that’s it.” 

“Mmm, perfect. Okay, darling, I want you to lose the sweatpants.”

“Eames, really?”

“Yes, darling. Really.” Eames says. He already has an idea of how he wants this to play out. 

He hears more rustling from Arthur’s side and the sharp intake of breath the point man takes once the pants are presumably off and on the floor. 

“Good, darling. Very good. Now, I’m going to tell you what I want to do to you and you’re going to touch yourself. And whatever you do, don’t take off that shirt.”

“But Eames…” Arthur begins. 

“Do as you’re told, Arthur,” Eames commands. Under any other circumstance Arthur would have done as he damn well pleased, but the tables have turned and Eames is in control now, so Arthur issues a quiet, “okay” and Eames smiles as he finally lets his hand slip past the elastic waistband and wrap around his thick, stiff cock. 

“Alright, darling I want you to imagine I’m there with you. I’m hovering over you on the bed. You’ve got your legs wrapped around my waist and I’m grinding into you.”

“Oh...oh-okay,” Arthur breathes out. 

“Your hands are all over my shoulders and arms, nails digging in and you want me so fucking bad, don’t you?” 

“Nnng, yeah I do,” Arthur responds. Eames strokes himself as slowly as he can manage, he doesn’t want to get too caught up in his own pleasure and ruin this although with Arthur panting in his ear he doesn't think he'll be able to hold out for very long. 

“I move my hand down between us and I’m touching you through your underwear and god, they’re already soaking in your precum. You're so wet for me, aren't you, Arthur? I decide I want a little taste, so I shift until I’m in between your gorgeous thighs and I’m mouthing you through those blasted underpants.” Eames pauses for a second to see how Arthur’s doing. He only hears heavy breathing and then,

“Jesus, don’t stop now, Eames I swear to god, I’ll fucking…hnnnggg. Just...just don’t fucking stop now,” Arthur whimpers. 

Eames grins and continues on, “You being the wanton little bitch that you are, you’ve got your hands all tangled in my hair and you’re trying to push my head further down with your knees. My hands are running all over your legs as I run my tongue over the outline of your cock and it’s so fucking hard. Are you hard for me, Arthur?“

“Yessss,” Arthur hisses. From the other end, Eames can hear the unmistakable wet slapping sound of Arthur touching himself. He moans loudly and tries to continue on as his body begins to shake all over.

“Normally I’d tease you for longer, but you’ve been such a good boy, love. I’m going to give you what you want. What do you want, Arthur?” Eames pants into the phone as his hand picks up pace. 

“Fuck me…want you to fuck me. Hard. God, Eames…want you inside me. Nnnnggg. Want to feel you from the inside. I…oh shit, I want to feel you cum inside me after you fuck me so hard…so goddamn hard that I see stars.” Arthur’s breathing like he’s been running for miles and Eames can hear that wet slapping sound get faster. 

“You’ve got it, darling. I sit up from where I’m at and I rip those wet, wet underpants off you. You’re naked beneath me and god, you’re so beautiful,” Eames moans, his eyes resting back on the photo still sitting on the desk. He cradles the phone between his ear and shoulder and places the photo in his lap. “You’re writhing beneath me and you’re telling me how much you want my cock. Isn’t that right?”

“You don’t even know, Eames…god…” Arthur replies and it sounds like he hit a pillow for emphasis. 

“I take out a bottle of lube from the nightstand and I coat my fingers until they’re dripping. Do you have any lube near you, love?” 

“Y-yeah, I’ve got some. Just a sec…” Eames can hear the sound of a drawer being opened and the sounds of Arthur pushing aside its contents. A few seconds later the drawer closes and Eames hear the pop of a cap. 

“Good, Arthur. I want you to put some on your fingers for me. That’s right, love, make them nice and wet…” he moans, imagining Arthur sitting on his knees in bed, slicking up his fingers while his cock strains for attention. 

“A-alright. I'm ready,” Arthur whispers. 

“Now, love, what I’m about to describe I’m doing to you, I want you to do to yourself, understand?” 

Arthur gasps a yes and Eames rubs his thumb over his slit. 

“I push my finger in you and I laugh at how wide your eyes get. I gently fuck you with it for a bit and then I add another.” Eames listens for a moment to see if Arthur is following orders and he nearly comes on the spot; Arthur’s breath is now coming in short spurts and he can tell by the shift in sound from his end that Arthur is clearly moving on the bed, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of himself. 

He forgets how to breathe for a moment, but forces himself to take a few deep breaths and carry on. His cock leaks even more, its essence coating his length and lubricating it perfectly. 

“Once you’re used to that, I add a third finger and you moan like the whore you are. I’m dragging my fingers along the walls of your inside, searching for that special spot and you’re cursing at me as you hold onto my arms for dear life. Just when you’re about to yell at me, I strike it and you cry out so beautifully for me.” 

Eames listens to Arthur again, wanting to see if the younger man can reach his prostate when suddenly something like a howl escapes Arthur’s mouth and Eames’ mind goes completely blank. 

“Eames…Eames, yeah, fuck…god. Need you. Now, inside me. F—fuck me. Oh god, fuck me so fucking good.” Arthur breaks off in a series of strangled moans and Eames’ hand begins to pump faster. 

“Unnhh. Yes, Arthur, yes. I pull my fingers out of you and you whimper, but I’m slicking up my cock and before you know it I’m pushing into you and god you’re so fucking tight and warm.”

“Yes, Eames, god yes. Ohhhh ffffffuuuuck.”

“I’m pounding into you and you’re screaming, god, you’re screaming out my name and leaving scratches all over me. I reach down and start to jack you off and you’re so fucking close. God, Arthur...I’m close. I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to fucking cum inside you oh god ummmfffffffffff Arthurrrr…” Eames moans and with a few last swift pumps he’s coming all over his hand, thick, white stripes making ribbons over the picture in his lap. 

On other end Arthur is breathing heavier than Eames has ever heard. “Fuck Eames, Eames, Eames Jesus Christ, yes, oh fuck me. Fuck my ass so hard oh fuck. Cum inside me. Yeah. Ohhh yeah. Yes, yes YES! Oh fuck, EAMES!” 

Eames isn't sure how long he sits there, practically melted into his chair. He can hear only labored breathing on the other end of the line and has no doubt that it matches his in equal measure. He imagines Arthur sprawled out against his bed, perhaps with his fingers still inside himself. He looks down at himself, admiring the mess he's made of the photograph that set this whole thing into motion. 

“Oh shit. Eames!” Arthur says form the other end.

“What, love? What’s wrong?” Eames shakes his head clear as best he can.

“I fucking…I got it all over the shirt,” Arthur mumbles. Eames finds it endearing how Arthur can’t even bring himself to say words like cum or semen despite all the other dirty things he’s just said.

“Ah, terribly sorry about that, darling,” Eames says with a tired laugh.

“You son of a bitch, you wanted that to happen, didn’t you?” Arthur accuses, but Eames can tell he's not anywhere near as upset as he wants the forger to believe.

“That was the general idea, yeah. ‘S’alight. You should see what damage I did.”

“Oh really?” Arthur asks amused.

“Mmmm. Just a sec,” Eames says in a husky voice. He pulls his phone away and brings up the camera option on the device. He holds the picture out in front of him and snaps a photo. He presses a few button and hits a few keys and then brings the phone back to his ear. “There you are,” he resumes the husky voice. 

He waits a moment for Arthur's phone to ding and then another for Arthur to actually look at the picture. He hears a sharp gasp from the other end. 

“What do you think?” Eames suppresses the urge to outright guffaw, trying to imagine what Arthur’s face must look like. He hears Arthur gulp again and he makes a note to never forget that sound and to do whatever he can to hear that on a regular basis. 

“I…I, uh... Oh. Wow.”

“Mmmm, it’s good, isn’t it?” Eames replies, deeply pleased at how this is affecting Arthur. 

What feels like many moments passes between them in which he’s sure Arthur hasn’t lowered his phone one fraction and still has his eyes trained on the photo intently. 

“You still there, love?” Eames asks after a bit.

“So, this was the picture that got you all hot and bothered?” Arthur asks, sounding almost like his usual, professional self. The only difference is that Eames now knows what Arthur sounds like when he cums. 

“That’d be the one, yeah,” Eames answers.

“Eames, you are a sick bastard,” Arthur says, but Eames can tell he’s smiling when he says it. 

“Why thank you, Arthur. That means a lot coming from you.” 

Eames can perfectly envision Arthur rolling his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames,” he orders, the ball back in his court.

“As you wish, darling. Good night.” 

“Good night,” Arthur replies cordially. 

Eames cleans himself up and meanders into his bedroom where he flops onto the bed, properly exhausted. As he’s trying to get to sleep some creeping doubts begin to make their way into his mind. What if Arthur doesn't want to see him again after this? What if he refuses to work with the forger ever again? Their friendship, which is a generous description of their relationship at best, might be completely shot to hell now, all because of Eames and his greed. Just then, his phone lights up. 

He reaches over for it and pulls it up to his face. The display reads that he has one new message. He opens the it to discover that it's not just a text, but a picture message. From Arthur. 

Expecting to see an extended middle finger, Eames nearly drops his phone upon seeing a torso clad in a navy blue shirt, the word 'Chicago' in focus. The shirt’s front is covered with white ribbons of Arthur’s cum and Eames notices that there’s text attached to the bottom of the message:

**Perhaps next time we can do this in person? I know how much you hate showing up for meetings, but I think you can fit this one into your schedule, don’t you?**

Eames eagerly replies and falls asleep with the biggest smile on his face.


End file.
